


Never Satisfied (or, I'll Burn The Heart out of You)

by Maia Elisabeth (gallifyres)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alexander is not a bad person, F/M, Gen, Hamilton References, John is a Good Friend, Mary is a Good Friend, Molly deserves better, Molly must be protected, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Sherlolly - Freeform, Slightly modified Hamilton lyrics, but not really, it doesn't end is sherlolly so if that's what you're looking for, so many hamilton references, you're out of luck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7990987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifyres/pseuds/Maia%20Elisabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes has always known that he could never be satisfied.<br/>It certainly didn't take Molly Hooper that long to figure it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Satisfied (or, I'll Burn The Heart out of You)

**Author's Note:**

> I like angsty, sad fics. So I wrote one of my own.  
> For the record, I don’t actually know if hearts can burn in fire, but for the purposes of this fic, let’s say they do.  
> Look at the tags: it's not really a Sherlolly fic, sorry if I disappointed you.  
> Sherlock is the property of the BBC; Hamilton references that make their appearance here are property of Lin-Manuel Miranda.  
> The only thing I own is Alexander Bauman.

Sherlock Holmes has always known that he could never be satisfied.

This strange, and rather crushing realisation had come to him when he was seven years old and had asked his father how aeroplanes flew. When his father had vaguely replied “Engines,” he, not content with the one-word answer, had dragged Mycroft with him to the public library after finding that the Holmes’ personal collection of books would not be sufficient for the information he wished to acquire.

After many trips, most of them being made without the supervision of his older brother, the young Sherlock had consumed enough information for him to earn a CPL, all of which had stemmed from his dissatisfaction with an answer.

Now, he watched from his position in the third row as Molly Hooper walked down the aisle, about to be a wed to a man- a man who was not him.

He knew that Alexander Bauman was a good man- the deductions he had made on him upon their meeting nearly a year ago showed that he loved dogs (he had a two Cocker Spaniels and enjoyed playing with them) but liked cats too; he preferred tea over coffee; enjoyed his job (he was a constable who often worked with Lestrade, and was agreeable enough that Sherlock could work with him when he was on a case); and most of all, loved Molly with his whole heart.

And now, as the wedding congregation moved to the evening reception, Sherlock felt regret and resent- not to Molly or Alexander, but rather to himself. For dating Molly for her love, wit, and companionship. For using her, after six weeks, for a steady and sure supply of body parts. For her realising exactly how he had been using her like a sponge, and the terrible words that cut deeper into him and his guilt, more than he wanted to admit.

* * *

 

_ “Sherlock Holmes,” Molly said cooly, much too quietly. “You cruel. Manipulative. Bastard. Do you know what you have done?” _

_ Sherlock stayed rooted to where he stood in the doorway of their bedroom, following Molly’s every movement with his eyes, watching as she strode to the mini-fridge where the body parts he had hoarded were stored and grabbed a heart, carefully wrapped in seran wrap and a baggie, labeled with  _ Heart, Female, 36.  _ Undoing the plastic with the precise fingers of a pathologist, she lightly tossed the heart from hand to hand, grabbing a scalpel sitting on the dresser, and walked towards the front room, stopping directly in front of the fireplace, which was merrily crackling in stark contrast to the cold and tense atmosphere that permeated the flat. _

_ “Let everyone wonder how Molly reacted when you broke her heart, because you’ve torn it all apart,” she said, driving the scalpel into the heart and cutting the organ into two halves, letting the frozen heart thaw in front of the leaping flames. _

_ “I’m watching it… burn…” she breathed, letting the heart fall into the flames and staring at the blaze that came up, a single tear rolling down her cheek as drops of blood dripped into the fireplace, sizzling in the silence as they heated up. _

_ She turned towards him, and Sherlock moved to her, to wipe her tears off her face, but she grabbed his wrist with a bloodied hand and pushed his arm back towards him. _

_ “No,” she said, only a little bit of hesitation creeping into her voice. “You will not touch me anymore, Sherlock. You have torn my heart all apart and for that… I hope that you burn,” she whispered, voice cracking on the last two words. _

_ When she left, slamming the door to the flat behind her, all Sherlock could think of was a conversation with the world’s only consulting criminal, on the edge of a pool, where John Watson was strapped to a bomb. _

_ “I will burn… the heart out of you,” he had whispered forcibly. _

_ But now, Sherlock wondered if James Moriarty had known that that particular phrase would come to fruition by one Molly Hooper. _

* * *

 

_ The consequences of his manipulation reached farther than just Molly.  Lestrade refused to give him cases to work with; Mrs. Hudson stopped making his tea and meals; and the Watsons refused to let him see his darling goddaughter. _

_ In fact, once Mary had found out from Molly what Sherlock had done, she had dragged along her protesting husband and little five-week old Evangeline Louise to Baker Street, three hours too early for their weekly dinners. _

_ Handing her sleeping daughter to John, she whipped around and pinned Sherlock to the bullet-riddled wall with force. _

_ “Congratulations, you idiot,” she hissed, one hand firmly wrapped around his throat. “Congratulations for inventing a new kind of stupid, a ‘damage you can never undo’ kind of stupid.” _

_ “Mary, I-” _

_ “ _ **_No_ ** _. You, for once in your life, will listen to someone else other than your own ego-inflated self, and if you don’t-” she patted her coat pocket, where Sherlock could clearly see the outline of a gun, “-I’ll kill you. Like,  _ actually _ kill you this time. Do you know what I’m here to do?” _

_ “Mary…” _

_ “I’m not here for you.” _

_ Silence. _

_ “I know Molly Hooper like I know my own mind, and trust me, you will never find anyone as trusting or as kind. Molly is the best thing in your life, so never lose sight of that fact, Sherlock.” She let go of him, and Sherlock was slightly shocked to see the tears of anger and disgust brimming in her eyes. _

_ “You could never be satisfied, God, I hope you’re satisfied!” Mary whisper-screamed in his face as she turned on her heel and headed for the door. _

_ Sherlock sat down against the wall and put his head in his hands. _

* * *

 

_ With John’s help, Sherlock formulated an apology for Molly after giving it much thought, and after much argumentation between the two men and annoyed threats by Mary, Sherlock was knocking on the door of Molly’s flat two weeks later. _

_ Molly peeked out, dressed in a drab grey sweater and washed-out purple pants.  _

_ “Who’s it- Oh.” _

_ “Molly.” _

_ “Sherlock. Erm. Come in?” The invitation came out as a statement instead, but Sherlock pushed the door fully open and slowly came in, stopping by the small table. _

_ “What are you here to do?” Molly’s voice was carefully controlled and betrayed no hint of emotion. _

_ Sherlock cleared his throat.  _

_ “I’ve just come to say, Molly, that I am really, truly sorry for using you like I did so. It was truly… ignorant and rather manipulative of me.” He paused, then continued. “I am conscious that I do not deserve you, Molly, but hear me out- that would be enough. I don’t ask for a second try at a… romantic relationship, per se; rather, I would like to strengthen our…  _ friendship _. I concede that it’s rather unimaginable for you, considering my… actions in the past, but…”  _

_ He dropped off, unsure of how she would react. Molly wore a very stony face, which slowly crumbled away as she fully faced Sherlock, the first time she had done so since the burning heart in the fireplace two weeks prior. _

_ She reached out her hand and gently took his hand: not entwining their fingers as they had when they were together, but simply one hand placed on top of the other. _

_ “It’s okay. I understand. Thank you.” _

_ Friendship and forgiveness came from those three simple sentences. _

_ Could he have imagined this? _

_ No, Sherlock decided. This was more than he deserved- and that would be enough for him. _

* * *

 

Sherlock blinks and realises, that, amidst his thoughts, he’s lost track of time, and it's come time for him to make the toast. The toast traditionally done by the bride’s father has been split between him and John.

Feeling a wave of deja vu, he looks towards the guests, raising his glass.

“A toast to the groom…” he begins, looking at Alexander, who grins at him. Sherlock has found solace in knowing that Molly has a husband who treats her like his entire universe, a man who is kind, caring, and has non-sociopathic tendencies. All of which Sherlock could never give Molly. As much as he might not show it, he approves of Alexander.

“To the groom!” the wedding guests echo, raising their own glasses.

“To the bride,” he says, looking at Molly.  _ Molly, whose heart he broke without knowing or caring. Molly, who he used, then threw away without a second thought. Molly, who helped him too many times to count. Molly, who cared when she didn’t need to.  _

_ Molly, his  _ **_friend_ ** _. _

She too, smiles and raises her own glass slightly, brown eyes sparkling with happiness and genuine friendship.

_ Molly, who moved on _ .

“To the bride!” the guests cheer again, Mary (matron of honour) and the two bridesmaids (doctors, and completely opposed to the overly flirtatious antics of the groomsmen) being the loudest.

Sherlock continues to the final two lines of his (relatively) short toast. “And to your union, with the hope that you’ll  _ always _ be satisfied.”

He smiles (a real one) as the congregation repeats his words and the sound of silverware clinking against glass through the room, accompanied by Molly and Alexander’s huge, matching smiles.

He sits down as John starts his half of the toast.

* * *

 

A few hours later, the dance floor is open. Sherlock, again, stays for Molly and Alexander’s first dance, which is played by the two bridesmaids, Ingrid Rhoda and Lily Choi, on two grand pianos, and, according to the sheet music, is an arrangement of the songs “Thinking Out Loud” and “Yellow”, arranged by both women. (Sherlock is slightly chagrined at the fact that one of the songs is called Yellow when the wedding’s theme of stars lies mostly in the colour blue, but he waves the annoyance off.) He is slightly impressed at the skill of both women on the piano.

As the song plays, the guests light sparklers that have been placed at the center of every table, and it is as if the newlyweds are dancing amongst the very stars of the universe themselves.

The music slows and transfers to simple chords as the guests sing.

_ “Look at the stars, _

_ Look how they shine for you, _

_ And everything you do. _

_ Yeah, they were all yellow.” _

The pianists play a transition into a new, higher key as the people sing again and gently sway their hands, holding the sparklers. 

Sherlock is caught up in the swaying and puts his sparkler up, too, as he closes his eyes and listens to the final few lyrics.

_ “Take me into your loving arms, _

_ Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars. _

_ Oh, darling, place your head on my beating heart. _

_ I’m thinking out loud, but maybe _

_ We found love right where we are. _

_ Oh, baby, we found love right where we are. _

_ And we found love right where we are.” _

Sherlock applauds with the rest of the guests, then turns to look for the closest exit.

As he approaches the door, however, he feels a tap on his shoulder and turns around to see Alexander.

“Hello, mate. Where d’you think you’re going?”

“Alexander. Um. I’ve got somewhere to be?” Sherlock had intended the last sentence as a statement, but it comes out as a question instead.

Alexander shakes his head more times than necessary (perhaps the two glasses of wine and the euphoria of being married has gotten to his head). “Nah. You’re coming back to where the party is!”

Sherlock tries to shake Alexander’s hand off his shoulder. “I tell you, I don’t do-”

He is cut off by Molly, walking towards them. “Oh, Alex! That’s where you went- what happened, Sherlock?”

Alexander says, “He was  _ about to _ leave,” emphasizing ‘about to’, “but he’s coming back now. Isn’t that right?”

Molly catches Sherlock’s eyes and she looks a little hurt. “You’ve already done that before. Please, stay. For me and Alexander and John and Mary and everyone. Stay.”

Sherlock considers his options. He can either leave and betray Molly’s steadily strengthening friendship with him or he can stay and keep Molly happy on the happiest day of her life.

And, for one of the few times in his life, Sherlock Holmes complies with the wishes of another.

Nodding his head towards the couple, he heads back into the groups of people chatting and dancing amongst themselves.

He goes towards the pianos off to the side, where Ingrid and Lily are still playing. If he remembers correctly, Ingrid is a paediatrician at Bart's and Lily works in Molly’s department. They seemed very close to Molly last time he visited the hospital, so it is no surprise that they are her bridesmaids today. 

“Mr. Holmes!” Ingrid calls out. “Would you care to join us?”

Lily hands him a few pages of sheet music and gestures to his violin nearby, keeping the melody with her right hand.

“It’s the violin melody,” Lily tells him, dark eyes focused on the piano keys. “For the song ‘Stars’, from  _ Les Miserables. _ ”

Sherlock hesitates, then gives in. He loves music- it is one of his only releases, the only outlet into which he can  _ truly _ express himself. And he quite enjoy  _ Les Miserables _ , for all the misery and pain that the musical evokes, and he knows that the melody for this particular song is rather glorious and uplifting.

Nodding once, he takes the piece after glancing it over and sets it onto a music stand already there, as if it were awaiting his arrival. He finds his violin and case on the floor and pulls it out, setting the shoulder rest on the bottom of the instrument and placing the violin between his shoulder and chin before plucking the A string to check the tuning.

Behind him, Lily begins the opening arpeggios as he sets his bow onto the string and places his fingers on the correct places, drawing out the first note and adding vibrato.

He does this until the end, a very powerful G. He presses the bow to the string, pulling out as much sound out of the note as he can muster, gradually adding more vibrato and becoming louder as the sound flies through the room.

Ingrid and Lily’s accompaniment slows to the last few chords, grand and majestic as Sherlock nears the tip of his bow.

He looks around and realises the large effect that the three musicians have had on the room.

No one is dancing; instead they all stare, wearing similar open-mouthed expressions of  _ wonder _ .

Molly is the first one to clap, everyone else follows suit. Sherlock bows once, smirking slightly,  and places his violin back into the case, handing the sheet music back to Lily. Then, in a rare display of kindness, he squeezes their shoulders and says, “Thank God you are both  _ fairly _ good pianists. It would have sounded positively  _ horrendous _ if you were any less talented.”

Both young women wear identical grins at his praise as they too stand from their benches, Ingrid smiling at her hands and Lily fingering the velvety dark blue fabric of her dress.

“I do love this song, though,” Ingrid admits to Sherlock. The detective looks about and catches her gaze, his icy eyes staring into her very dark ones. “Very much.” She blushes and hides a giggle in her hand. “I’m a theatre enthusiast, Mr. Holmes. You must forgive me, but I must tell you that the performances of this song in the  _ very first _ English production of the musical is my personal favourite. The actor who sings for the part of Javert has a particularly handsome voice. And not just for the musical, mind. He’s in Shakespeare, and also a few television shows, and a radio show about an aero -”

Lily slaps Ingrid on the arm, as if reprimanding her, and Sherlock deduces that these two, although unrelated to each other by family blood, are often mistaken as such- he would have thought so as well, if it weren’t for little details like the eyes and shape of face. He does admit that they look similar, both being rather petite (shorter than Molly, if that were possible), tan skin, dark hair, and dark brown eyes, but they are unrelated by blood. However, he deduces further, they are very good friends who will do anything to help the other.

_ Much like me and Molly, and John, and Mary, and...Geoff or whatever the hell his name is, and Mycroft…  _ he realises with a pang.

“Oi, you,” Lily shakes a finger in Ingrid’s face teasingly. “Don’t expose Mr. Holmes to your little brand of silliness. The last time you did that to someone...well, I won’t say in front of Mr. Holmes, but I don’t think Sophia’s  _ ever _ going to be the same again!”

Sherlock smiles a farewell at them, leaving them to bicker teasingly among themselves. He then turns to look for John and Mary.

He finds them soon enough. “God, Sherlock,” John says, holding a flute of champagne in a hand, “that was  _ brilliant _ .”

Sherlock grins a little. “Oh, so are we back to you praising every move I make?”

John’s face turns serious. “Sure… because that means I get to punch you in the face more often.”

Sherlock makes a face of mock fear that sends both men into bigger smiles.

Mary pokes her head around John’s back, carrying a stirring Evangeline. “Well, what’d I miss? Lovely playing earlier, Sherlock,” she adds to the detective.

“I know,” Sherlock deadpans, adding, “It seems as if your daughter is waking?”

Mary nods. “Yeah, she fell asleep during the first dance, and started moving about after you finished playing. I think she likes your playing.”

Just then, Angie (as Molly and Anthea have nicknamed her) wakes with a loud cry, startling her mother. “Oh no!” Mary whispers.

“Give her to Sherlock,” suggests John.

Sherlock finds himself agreeing, for once. “Sure. Mary, give her here.”

Mary sighs with relief. “Oh, Sherlock, you’re a big lifesaver, you know?”

He grins as he takes his goddaughter from her mum’s arms. “I know. It’s why you made me her godfather. Now go dance. Do whatever you ‘people’ do.” He kisses Mary’s cheeks and gently pushes John towards his wife and watches as they melt back to the dancing and the music, now provided by a DJ.

“Serlock,” Evangeline calls to him petulantly, rubbing her blue eyes. 

“I know, I know,” he agrees. “There’s too many people. I don’t particularly like  _ people _ .”

Evangeline giggles and pulls on Sherlock’s curls. He scowls a little but the expression falls away as he looks at her little joy-filled face.

He carries her to the walls of the room, where he can watch, unobserved, the way he prefers.

He looks at Molly and Alexander dancing to “Crazy Little Thing Called Love,” and watches Molly’s extremely odd dance where she raises both arms and waves them side to side, and Alexander’s reaction of laughter as he looks at his wife with nothing but  _ love _ .

He turns away and closes his eyes as Evangeline nestles her head on his shoulder, remembering the last four lines he wrote for the wedding toast, the last four lines he had ripped up and thrown into hydrofluoric acid in the kitchen, where he watched it disintegrate as his heart tightened.

_ And I know, she’ll be happy as his bride _

_ And at least I keep her eyes in my life. _

_ But I will never be satisfied _

_ I will never be satisfied. _

**Author's Note:**

> So!  
> I hoped you enjoyed it; feel free to leave kudos and comments below, and give me a list of all the Hamilton references you can find, if you'd like!  
> Fun fact: Lily and Ingrid's personalities are based off of mine and my friend Emilia's personalities, respectively. She's just as obsessed as Ingrid is with Roger Allam, and the thing about 'Sophia never being the same again' was a true event that scarred our friend of the same name. It's a wonderful story that might be told another time.


End file.
